And Till the World Shall End
by tswsots
Summary: Post-Endgame. Kathryn and Chakotay spend an evening at Tom and B'Elanna's house. A little J/C, a lot of Tom and the Captain chatting.


Since ever the world was spinning  
>And till the world shall end<br>You've your man in the beginning  
>Or you have him in the end<p>

- L. M. Montgomery

Tom designed the house he shares with his wife and daughter to look like a twentieth-century Terran bungalow, and to Kathryn the place is coziness itself, as much a home as the more modern apartment she and Chakotay share in town, or her mother's farmhouse in Indiana. On these long summer evenings, it often happens that Chakotay and B'Elanna find an excuse to peel off. This time, they've gone out to look at the fireflies. Tom and Kathryn let them go. They remain on the porch at the back of the house and watch through the screens as their respective spouses traipse through tall grass in among the glowing insects.

What do they talk about, her First Officer and her Chief Engineer? Perhaps their Maquis friends, dead years ago at the hands of the Cardassians. Or perhaps nothing so weighty as all that. Kathryn doesn't need to know. She understands that their friendship is as deep and wide as space itself, and she wouldn't dream of begrudging them this time alone. Besides, she likes spending time with Tom. He may be an old, married man now, but the twinkle has never left his eye, and from the way he's eyeing her now, she can tell this evening's fun is just beginning.

She and Tom don't go back as many years as the other two, perhaps, but their camaraderie is also something special. They share a competitive spirit, a sense of mischief, a lust for adventure, an interest in Terran history and artifacts, and perhaps most importantly, a love of, well, Voyager. The captain and her pilot knew the ship in a way no one else did. No one but Tom understands how she felt: what it was like for her sit on the bridge, rumble "Engage," and feel Voyager's full power kick in as stars streamed past on the view screen.

"I replicated something I think you'll like, Captain," Tom says.

"What's that, Mr. Paris?"

At a time like this, using military forms of address is an affirmation of their shared history. Paradoxically, it is more personal and familiar than using first names could ever be.

Tom is holding something out to her – a cigar, of all things. She takes it and laughs.

"I don't smoke."

"There's a first time for everything," he says with a shrug.

She waggles her eyebrows.

"I didn't say I had _never_ smoked. This is hardly a first." She accepts the proffered light.

Soon they are blowing smoke rings at each other and reminiscing.

"I still haven't gotten over the shame of losing that shuttle race, Tom," she teases. "I thought we agreed the Delta Flyer was going to win?"

"Apart from the fact that the flyer was sabotaged – "

"—A likely story!"

"It was!"

"I know."

" – I was a little busy proposing to my wife."

"Tom, as a pilot you always had impeccable timing, but as a romancer? Surely you could have picked another moment."

"So I should have… _waited_," he says, his eyes dancing with mirth.

"Yes," she says, nodding and taking another sip of the bourbon she's been nursing.

She can't quite see where he's headed yet, but she can tell when he's building up to a joke.

"Captain, I admire so many things about you," he begins, pausing to drag on his cigar. "I especially admire your patience."

She cocks her head and gives him a half smile, inviting him to continue.

"Unfortunately, I was never quite able to live up to the example you set."

He clears his throat.

"I'm afraid _waiting_ to propose to B'Elanna was beyond my humble capabilities. I didn't want to _wait_, until, say, we were _home on Earth_, to tell her how I felt. I'm very sorry, Captain, that even with your shining example of how _waiting_ could be exquisitely carried out –"

She swats him playfully and he breaks off, laughing.

No one but Tom could have gotten away with a joke like that at her expense. But how can she deny it?

She did make Chakotay wait. And wait.

She turns to the screen behind her and her eyes seek her husband's solid, square form in the evening light. She finds him. They are heading back toward the porch now.

"You've your man in the beginning/ Or you have him in the end," she quotes pensively, reciting a silly rhyme she heard in grade school. "I'm glad you and B'Elanna didn't wait," she admits. "Do you think I made a mistake?"

"No," Tom says, completely serious now. "Do you?"

She shakes her head decisively. "No."

"You might have had a child," Tom points out, and he reflexively cranes his head toward the door to the house, listening for Miral.

"We had a hundred and sixty lives in our hands already," Kathryn says, spreading her hands in a dismissive gesture.

"Mama and Papa Voyager?" Tom says, grinning.

She snorts. "Hardly."

"Can I get you a refill –" he brandishes the bottle – "Ma?"

"Careful, Lieutenant," she says, smirking. She covers the top of her glass with her hand and adds, "Thanks, but I think we'll be going soon. Tomorrow is a work day."

On cue, Chakotay slips through the door, followed closely by B'Elanna.

"How were the fireflies?" Kathryn asks.

"Magnificent," her husband replies. He moves to stand beside her and puts his arm around her waist, gathering her close to him.

"We should get going," he says softly.

Tom and B'Elanna walk them to the door.

"Thank you for a lovely evening," Kathryn says.

B'Elanna smiles back.

"Our pleasure. You should come more often," she says, and Kathryn moves in to hug her tight.

It's Tom's turn net, and as she's thanking him again for the cigar, he lightly kisses her cheek – a first. She beams at him.

"Don't be strangers," Tom calls after Kathryn ad Chakotay as they head down the driveway – a purely decorative element of Tom's retro design.

"Right back at you," Chakotay laughs.

They continue to stroll, putting distance between themselves and the house.

Her husband is quiet, and Kathryn glances at him sideways, trying to read his mood. It's hard in dim light.

"Did you have a nice time?" she asks him.

"We had a good talk," he says. She doesn't miss the distinction his words imply.

"But?" she prods.

He faces her, and even the dark, she can see the flash of dimples. "I realized I'd rather be at home kissing my wife."

She smiles. It's a diversionary tactic, but she's all done prying.

"Well, then," she says. "Let's go home."


End file.
